Happy Saturday! Thanks for continuing to rock it out with me and these guys!

Thanks, as usual, to Jen and Bridgette! And each and every one of you for reading...


Chapter 9:

I try and swallow the food but it doesn't go down. It can't. I'm not hungry and as I stare at the array of breakfast, the main emotion I feel is contempt—at myself.

It's clear Esme didn't make this—I know this 'cause I know her style of cooking. No, this is all Bella. Even after me brutally telling her to leave my house, she had the compassion to make me breakfast. Could it be a manipulative tactic? A guilt trip? Maybe. But something tells me this isn't the case.

And then I see it; scribbled on a napkin lying next to the plate that had been set out for me.

I'm sorry :(

Not recognizing the handwriting, I quickly deduce it's Bella who wrote it. If it's possible, I feel even worse than I did before.

Picking up my phone, I quickly dial Esme's number, but she doesn't answer. When I look at the time, I realize she's probably starting breakfast and helping some of the girls, and probably their kids, get ready. So I leave her a message. "Hey Ez, umm just calling to …" I trail off—why am I calling? Right. "Uh . . . I wanted to see how everything went this morning. Like if maybe you were able to get Bella a hotel? Okay, so yeah, call me."

After hanging up, I send Angela a quick text letting her know I'll be working from home today. I couldn't get anyone to schedule a meeting with me on a Friday, even if I wanted to, so I know my schedule is pretty clear. There's no point in going in.

Plus, the guilt churning in my stomach is making it pretty impossible for me to feel like being a part of the outside world right now.

I stare back at the note—'I'm sorry'.

I flip it over and over in my hands as barrages of memories attack me from all sides.

More importantly, the reason I'm so damn apprehensive, and if I'm being honest, I'm scared completely shitless.

Meeting Rosalie Hale—remembering how scared and broken she was still haunts my memories from time to time. She showed up at our doorstep—the doorstep of the center—but made it clear she wasn't seeking help for herself. Her brown hair was long like Bella's, her unique color eyes even more lifeless. She was already 'fucked and damaged' she had said, but she wanted to know if there was a way to get her little sister—legally. I didn't have an answer for her. I was barely nineteen years old myself and only helping my own sister with what, at the time, we were calling a 'project'. Never had we thought, ten years later, things would still be up and running at the capacity they were.

Rose never even got to try and get her sister, at least not that I know of. The last time I saw her we were at the spot—my thinking spot—and just talking. She was particularly twitchy that night, constantly looking over her shoulder. She was supposed to bring her sister, they were going to 'runaway' but she showed up alone.

"If something happens to me, promise you'll find Isabella. Promise when the time comes, you'll help her." It was a pleaded whisper as she slid a small piece of paper into my hands.

I promised, but before I could question her more and probe like I normally did, men, men larger than me that's for sure—four of them—drove up like bats out of hell.

What followed was snarling faces, fists connecting with my face, feet kicking any part of my body they could find . . . metal against my back.

I had been in a few fights before, holding my own as best as a scrawny kid could. But this time was different, the look in their eyes—the look I saw in Rose's eyes, let me know this wasn't a fight. This was an attack and it was brutal.

I could taste the blood in my mouth, smell it in the air, hear Rosalie's screams—which matched my own—before the resounding echo of a gunshot followed by a commanding order to 'stop'. And everything did, the punching, the screaming, my breathing.

I don't know what happened next. Blackness overcame me. I woke up the next day, maybe even a couple days later, in a hospital bed with two pairs of hands gripping at mine. Esme was to my left, Whitney Call at my right.

I was shocked. We were barely close then—Whit and I. She was just one of Esme's classmates and it would be years before we became friends, and later lovers. But it all started with that moment, her being there when I needed someone the most.

A couple weeks later, and barely healed, I went on a search for Isabella. She and Esme helped me look.

The paper Rose had given me—had two words scribbled on it: 'I'm sorry', and an address scrawled on the back.

The address was that of a deserted looking house with remnants of clothes, toys, and some pictures and though it looked recently abandoned, in the end it led us nowhere.

I didn't look further, I couldn't. I was scared. And the cops, the ones who turned their noses up at me, were useless. They all assumed, and voiced their opinions, this was nothing more than a drug deal gone wrong, or on Rose's part—a set-up to rob me.

I changed then, on the inside and out. I lived in the gym, I stopped trusting, stopped helping at the center. I was only there in spirit. When no one was around, I helped Ez cook, clean, repair shit, and whatever else she needed. When I started working, I wrote a check every month, still do. But physically, only one hand is needed to count the number of times I've actually stepped foot in there or bothered to meet the girls staying there. I didn't need to, didn't want to.

Getting involved was the last thing I needed. And now look at me—as involved as one could get in just one day.

I had always felt guilty—carried that burden around that I was unable to help Rosalie or her sister. And now the chance had been handed to me on a silver platter and in one shot, like a coward, I failed. Again.

Promise me when the time comes you'll help Isabella.

Guilt continues to consume me, and about an hour later, I reach for my phone to call Esme again. And again she doesn't answer. But as I'm about to text her—make sure she knows I'm calling in peace—my cell phone rings. It's Angela.

"Hello," I answer.

"Hey. So I got your text. You have a conference call at one o'clock. Just wanted to remind you."

"Thanks."

"Yeah." There's a beat of silence. "So, are you still going through your 'roid rage' ... or whatever that shit was last night?"

I sigh. "Are you trying to tell me I had no right to be upset and bothered?"

"You weren't just bothered. You were straight out furious. I haven't seen you so mad before. Well, that's not true ... but yeah."

"If it makes you feel better—I do feel bad. Like shit actually."

"I don't know that it makes me feel better per se. But, yeah, I'm glad to hear some remorse. Wanna tell me what that was about? I have my theories but I wanna know what you think. How are you feeling?"

"Other than being pissed you're trying to psychoanalyze me?"

"I'm not—"

"We both know you are," I bite a little. "But it's fine. Whatever . . . umm, I was caught off guard. Scared how the situation might look and it came out as anger. I'd rather not over think it any more than that."

"That's a fair enough assessment."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil." I roll my eyes. "So, anyway . . . what are you up to, did you go into the office?"

"No, I'm with Esme . . . we're . . . I'm helping her with something right now."

"Why isn't she answering her phone? She mad at me?"

"No, more like mad at herself. She feels really bad about last night—for both you and Bella."

"If you talk to her, tell her not to be. I mean, she had no way of knowing Bella was going to . . . you know—approach me the way she did, or that I was gonna react the way I did."

She sighs. "I've tried."

"That's all you can do," I say in comfort. "So . . ." I clear my throat. "How is she?"

"Esme?"

"No, Bella. She's not beating herself up too much is she? You should probably tell her I'm prone to overreactions." I expect a retort, a playful jab of some sort but it doesn't come. "Ang?"

"Edward. Esme doesn't want me to say anything . . . she doesn't want you to feel bad. But you should know—we don't know where Bella is."


Hi! Remember, you guys love and trust me, yes? :-)

Me thinks I'll prob update the next chap sooner rather than later since it's already written and beta'd and I imagine some of you are flailing at the moment! No worries, she's fine and not too far ;-)

I love hearing from you! Thoughts?

Thanks for reading

~Lo